


Assist

by the_one_that_fell



Series: Li'l Dicky's Southern Comforts [2]
Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Food Trucks, Getting Together, M/M, Meddling
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-19
Updated: 2017-06-19
Packaged: 2018-11-16 06:18:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,766
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11248047
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_one_that_fell/pseuds/the_one_that_fell
Summary: Jack had one blissful week of texting Eric in peace before his teammates caught on.





	Assist

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted [on tumblr](http://alphacrone.tumblr.com/post/162016378687/food-truck-au-2)

Jack had one blissful week of texting Eric in peace before his teammates caught on.

“ZIMMBONI,” Tater shouted across the dressing room at the end of practice that day. “Who you texting that make you smile so big?”

In a scary sort of tandem, Ransom and Holster whipped around to look at him.

“Yeah, _Zimmboni_ ,” Holster parroted. “Who ya texting?”

“A friend,” Jack said sternly. He tried to meet Chowder’s eyes, begging for an assist, but the rookie was oblivious to Jack’s plight, chatting with Marty and Thirdy in the corner.

“A _friend_ ,” Ransom said scandalously. “A _lady_ friend?”

“No,” Jack spat. Which, in hindsight, was a terrible mistake.

“Oh _ho_ ,” Holster said, grin wide. “A _gentleman_ friend?”

“He’s just a friend,” Jack said, now unabashedly glaring at Tater. Tater shrugged and grinned. He and Jack had been playing together since they were fresh-faced rookies; Jack’s moods didn’t faze him at all.

“Is he cute?” Ransom asked, chin in his hands. “I bet he’s cute.”

“What’s his name?” Holster asked. They’d both scooted closer, mischievous looks on their faces. Jack tightened his grip on his phone and stood.

“Leave me alone,” Jack grumbled, forgoing a shower to grab his bag and head for the door.

“Aw, Jack, wait!” Ransom called “We’re just giving you a hard time-”

Jack walked faster as Ransom and Holster chased after him, but their legs were longer and he soon had two large and sweaty men draping themselves across his shoulders.  
“Bro, dude, we weren’t trying to make you feel bad,” Holster said seriously as they continued walking. “We just wanna know about this dude.”

“Yeah, dude,” Ransom said. “And we already took care of the jackasses who had a problem when you came out to us. No one cares if you’re dating a guy.”

“I mean, we care,” Holster said. “Because you’re a fucking robot, bro, and we care that someone can make you smile like _Tater_ just by texting you.”

Jack sighed. There was no escaping this. “His name is Eric. And we’re _just friends_.”

“Right,” Ransom said, like he didn’t believe Jack at all. “Friends.”

“I don’t even know if he’s interested,” Jack found himself saying. “I mean, I think he is, but he’s so friendly maybe he’s just being nice…”

“Doubt it,” Holster said. “Jack, you’re captain oblivious- no offense.”

Ransom nodded sagely. “If _you_ think he’s interested-”

“-then he’s basically throwing himself at you,” Holster finished. They fistbumped behind Jack’s head.

“Thanks, guys,” Jack said, sighing. “I think.”

“You’re _welcome_ ,” Ransom said. “So...where’d you meet _Eric_?”

“Uh, you know that food truck, Li’l Dick-”

“LI’L DICKY’S SOUTHERN COMFORTS?!” Holster shouted.

Ransom gasped dramatically. “You mean the most delicious and most inappropriately named food truck in the city?”

Holster slapped at Jack’s chest wildly in excitement. “You mean Eric, the southern dude who runs it?”

“Bro!” Ransom gripped tightly at Jack’s arm. “He’s mad cute. Do you get an employee discount?”

“Don’t tell Tater,” Holster said seriously. “He’s loves their biscuits and gravy like you wouldn’t believe.”

“Dude, have you tried the cobbler? Orgasmic.”

“Speaking of orgasmic-”

“Nope, alright, conversation over,” Jack said, shoving them both off. “I’ll see you two tomorrow.”

Holster sighed. “If you don’t come to practice with embarrassing hickeys everywhere we’re disowning you.”

Jack rolled his eyes and waved. Maybe if they disowned him he’d finally get some peace and quiet. There was a novel thought.

 

* * *

 

Jack had no such luck, however. The boys gave him a hard time for a few days, but seemed to have dropped it by their off day. Jack realized, in retrospect, that letting his guard down had been his first mistake.

There was a small art festival going on that weekend, taking up a few streets downtown, and Bittle’s truck was one of many to cater. He hadn’t made a move yet, too scared of being wrong and too busy to find time for a date if he was _right_ , but he and Bittle texted every day and chatted whenever he came by the truck and it was just...nice. Normal. Fun.

There wasn’t a line when Jack found Li’l Dicky’s, and Bittle’s face lit up as Jack approached the window. “I was hopin’ you’d come by today. Everyone’s in a fried chicken mood today, I’ve been bored out of my mind.”

“Losing everyone to Fry Guy?” Jack asked, frowning. “I can, euh, tweet about you if you want, try to drum up some business.”

“As sweet as that offer is,” Bittle said. “I’d rather you just stay here and talk to me. Pie?”

“Please,” Jack said, smiling. Remembering Ransom and Holster’s encouragement, he added, “You look nice today.”

He was rewarded by a light blush painting Bittle’s cheeks. “Oh, thank you,” Bittle said, nearly dropping the pie he selected for Jack. “Don’t know how, been sweatin’ up a storm in this hunk of junk.”

“You always look nice,” Jack said quietly. Bittle chewed on his bottom lip, eyes searching Jack’s face, and Jack wanted to say more, something smooth and charming and flirtatious, but suddenly there were loud voices behind him, and he sighed. “I should let you get to your customers.”

“ZIMMBONI!”

Jack froze, blood freezing in his veins. It couldn’t be...the universe didn’t hate him _that_ much…

“Jack! Quit hogging all that southern lovin’,” Holster shouted, shoving Jack out of the way. “Hey there, li’l Dicky.”

Eric rolled his eyes. “No one but my mama’s allowed to call me Dicky, thank you very much.”

Ransom pushed Holster out of the way, winking at Eric. “We’ll have three of your finest southern comforts, thank you.”

Eric laughed despite the frown he was trying to maintain. “That joke stopped being funny ages ago, gentlemen.”

Like Moses parting the Red Sea, Tater pushed aside Ransom and Holster and leaned against the windowsill of the truck. “Little B, what is your special today?”

Eric leaned on his elbows, grinning down good-naturedly at Tater. “Red beans and rice, Mr. Mashkov. Not the fanciest, but always a crowd pleaser.”

“Hmm,” Tater said, tapping his chin in thought. “I’ll try that. And mac n’ cheese. And pie.”

Eric laughed and tapped out the order on his phone. “What kind of pie?”

“The sugar one,” Tater said, pulling a face. “Checkers? No, chess! Chess pie.”

“Sure thing,” Eric said, taking the card from Tater’s outstretched hand and ringing up his order. “So, you boys’re all teammates, huh?”

As if on cue, Ransom and Holster got their arms around Jack, hauling him back over to the window. “Chyeah,” Ransom said. “And, like, _best bros_.”

Eric bit back a smile as he prepared Tater’s order, packaging it all up in his signature metal buckets. “That must be fun.”

“It is,” Tater agreed, taking his food eagerly. “We all love playing with Zimmboni.”

“Absolutely,” Ransom said. “Real _generous_ player. _Giving_. Shares the puck.”

“Amazing _stamina_ ,” Holster added, waggling his eyebrows. “Can play _all night long_.”

“But he’s got a _tender_ side,” Ransom said.

Holster nodded. “And have you _seen_  his ass?”

“ _I have to go,_ ” Jack hissed, ducking out from under Ransom’s and Holster’s arm. “Bittle, I’m sorry about them. I’ll text you.”

Eric looked disappointed to see Jack leave, but he smiled and nodded. “Sure, sweetpea.”

Jack could hear the others protesting, but he ignored them as he scurried away, mini pie clutched tightly in his hand. God, if he’d ever had a chance with Bittle, it had surely gone out the window now. He was going to murder the guys. Or get them traded. _Something_.

 

* * *

 

That evening, Jack was perched on his his couch, reading, when someone knocked on the door. With a sigh, he set down his book and steeled himself for another hour-long conversation with the middle-aged woman who lived next door and always found an excuse to borrow a cup of sugar from Jack.

Except, it wasn’t Susan; it was Bittle, looking as confused as Jack felt. Before Bittle could say anything, he was shoved into the apartment as three other men rushed in, shouting instructions at each other.

Jack reached out to steady Bittle, then huffed and glared at his teammates. “What the hell, guys?”

“Zimmboni,” Tater said gravely, clasping Jack’s shoulder with his free hand. “How have you not asked out little B? You text for weeks and say ‘just friend?’ We’re helping.”

“What-”  Jack began, then found himself shoved into a seat at his kitchen table. Holster had covered it in a white tablecloth and was setting out plates and wine glasses. Ransom lit a few candles and Tater ushered Bittle over to sit across from Jack.

“I’m sorry,” Bittle whispered. “They kidnapped me as I was parking Betsy. Promised to promote the truck if I came with them.”

Jack felt his expression soften. “It’s okay, Bittle. I’m happy to see you.”

“Now, for dinner,” Tater announced. “Take-out from Spaghetti Kettle. And wine!”

Ransom and Holster dumped the food onto serving platters and all but threw them onto the table. Tater poured them both generous helpings of Merlot, bowing ridiculously when Bittle thanked him. And then the idiots were gone, giggling out the door like children.

“Um.” Bittle opened and closed his mouth a few times before he found words. “I think this is a date.”

Jack huffed a small, frustrated laugh. “This wasn’t how I imagined our first date.”

Bittle looked up at him -- something Jack wasn’t used to, given that Bittle was always standing in his truck when they spoke. He was much shorter than Jack realized. “How _did_ you imagine it?”

“Well, for starter’s, I was going to take you to an actual restaurant,” Jack said, motioning around his apartment. “And I never intended for my teammates to get involved.”

“I think they’re sweet,” Bittle said, taking a small sip of his wine. “They really care about you.”

“I guess,” Jack grumbled, heart beating rapidly as Bittle laughed. “I think they just want your employee discount.”

“Well, either way,” Bittle said, reaching across the table to take Jack’s hand. “They got us here, now. I’m going to be sending them all thank you baskets.”

Jack grinned. “Maybe wait to see how the date goes, eh? Could be terrible.”

Bittle raised an eyebrow. “If the things they were saying ‘bout your stamina are true, I highly doubt that.”

Dinner was suddenly the last thing on Jack’s mind. He brought Bittle’s hand to his lips and gently kissed his knuckles. Bittle sucked in a small breath, eyes dark and smile wanting.  

Pasta and breadsticks, it turned out the next morning, made a _fantastic_ breakfast.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm on tumblr at [alphacrone (formerly eve-baird.)](http://alphacrone.tumblr.com/)
> 
> If you like my writing, please check out my [new, original project. ](http://thediscourtknife.com/)


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